


Rubatosis

by lysiabeth



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Mystery Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-06-27 04:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15678309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysiabeth/pseuds/lysiabeth
Summary: What's even worse is that sleep is weird now. Even if she has nights that aren’t plagued with nightmares she wakes up feeling like she hasn’t even rested, scrubbing the sleep from her eyes and stretching her neck as far as it will go every morning to try and dislodge the knots and pulls that never seem to just ‘click’.





	1. Chapter 1

_In an abandoned warehouse is where you’re found, beaten and bloody and just holding onto life. It’s been minutes since the bullet went off but to you it feels like it’s only been mere seconds, the echo of the gunshot still bouncing around in your skull like a pinball._

_You understand those movies now, where the camera slows as the rear of the gun slides back, the bullet shoots out of the barrel, the shell casing drops to the floor. Someone’s talking but it sounds far away, attempting to pull you back. But back where? You feel like you’re in two places at once and you try to focus on one voice out of the many; this one is familiar. This one is nice. You’re not sure why the other ones sound so panicked - you’re safe now, aren’t you?_

  


 

 

**Part One**

 

Bruce makes her take an additional two weeks off once she’s out of the hospital. Stephanie doesn’t even attempt to argue. She’s got three cracked ribs, a sprained wrist, too many bruises to count, and a gash the size of her fist from where the bullet tore through the top of her shoulder.

She’s lucky to be alive, which Leslie reminds her the second time after her heart stops. Steph rolls her eyes and bites out her retort; it was only for forty or so seconds. People have learnt how to slow down their heartbeat lower than that and they all make it out alive. Leslie looks at her with a dark face and suppresses a sigh, placing the tube of blood she’s just taken from Stephanie onto the gurney next to them.

Moments pass. Stephanie focuses on the ticking of the clock on the wall, the buzzing of a light overhead. Leslie stills for a moment, the second-guess of her movement shown in how her feet twist over one another as she goes to step back and towards Steph all at once.

“Is jumping straight back into this the best thing?” Leslie asks, not for the first time, and Stephanie just chews her lip as Leslie places a small band aid over the crook of her elbow.

“I’m fine, Leslie. I swear.” Stephanie says, almost pleading, and Leslie just sucks in through her teeth. Stephanie isn’t sure why she’s so worried - they knew the risks of resuscitating her, despite the extent of her injuries, despite the risk of severe mental and physical trauma. For all Steph knows, Leslie's insistent prodding and clucking is just another hurdle for her to jump over, another spanner in the works for her to finally be seen as a viable sidekick of Batman’s. She wants to ask Leslie about this, to pry and poke and weasel answers out of her just like some petty criminal her and Tim used to take down _before_ , but she's interrupted. There’s a crashing out the front of Leslie’s clinic, and Stephanie perks up as Leslie lets go of her arm, dropping it onto the gurney. The door to the room they’re in opens and a figure walks in, something that looks like a knife handle sticking out of their side. Leslie stills, the entire mood of the room changing. 

“Spoiler," she starts, snapping on a pair of latex gloves and going over to support the mystery person. "I will be in touch.” Leslie says. Steph knows a dismissal when she sees one but that doesn't mean she's happy with it, raising her eyes at the two figures and Leslie opens the door to the other room with the more "life saving" equipment in it.

The new patient has a domino mask on, Steph notes, as she flicks her eyes over at the two of them as she makes moves to leave. They're both avoiding eye contact with her and Steph scrunches her forehead; does Bruce know there were other masked vigilantes who use Leslie’s clinic? Given the behaviour, she'd make a guess at "No". Stephanie leaves slowly. Trying to eavesdrop but also not wanting to be caught prying, Steph pulls on her hood and exits the clinic quietly, Gotham well and truly dead as the time between late night and early morning passes.

Her comm crackles softly, and Steph winces. Bruce was likely going to go ape - she had just ditched half way through a patrol without telling him where she was going, but if he were to find out that she was still recovering from the events of her time in hospital he’d probably push her to stay back like before.

Which was funny. Steph was well aware of the lengths Bruce pushed himself when he was injured because Tim had told her so back when they were actually talking.

“Spoiler. The doctor informed me of your injury; are you okay?” Bruce’s voice asks straight to the point. But there was something almost… Soft. Caring. Steph shakes her head. She wasn’t about to kid herself that he cared about her _now,_ especially after all this time.

“I’m fine, Batman. Good to go.” Steph answers, and the line is silent for a moment.

“Oracle says everything is quiet tonight. Take the rest of the night off, we can touch base tomorrow.” Bruce orders, and Stephanie wants to argue but a stabbing pain shoots across her chest and she winces.

“Sure thing, B.” She says, once she’s breathed in deeply a few times and the pain has ebbed away. The street is oddly empty, the night clear, and Stephanie makes her way home silently, the second dismissal of the night stinging more than she wants to admit. It takes her time to get home, her mom and her's new apartment in a relatively safe area for Gotham meaning a longer trek from Leslie's side of town, and by time she's stood in front of the fridge before deciding she isn't even all that hungry to getting undressed and checking her phone despite the knowledge there's no notifications there anyways it's nearing four in the morning. Steph rubs her hands up her arms and tugs the small plaster off her elbow to flick it into the rubbish bin under her desk while she figures that some sleep is better than no sleep.

Steph goes to pull her window closed, sticking her head through the split in the curtains when she can’t feel the window handle, when her eyes catch a flash movement on the apartment block across from her. Her hands go clammy, scared that someone has followed Spoiler home and seen her as Steph, and she watches for some time until she convinces herself she must be just seeing things. Her heart rate slows, back to normal. Her toes have dug into the threadbare carpet and the hair on her neck still stands up even when she buries herself under her covers, the nagging anxious feeling making her brain too jittery to relax.

What's even worse is that sleep is weird now. Even if she has nights that aren’t plagued with nightmares she wakes up feeling like she hasn’t even rested, scrubbing the sleep from her eyes and stretching her neck as far as it will go every morning to try and dislodge the knots and pulls that never seem to just ‘click’. The only reason Steph even knows that she manages to sleep the next morning is because the light coming in through the edges of her windowpane is white-grey, not blue-grey, which is the tell tale sign that the sun is up over Gotham.

Stephanie reaches out on her bedside table, knocking things over until her hand grasps her phone, and she brings the screen up to her face, annoyed at the ‘Low Battery’ notification that flashes as she checks a text from her mom. Things haven’t been the best between them these past few weeks, her mom stuck between being angry at her for the vigilante acts but also being happy she’s still with them. Steph isn’t sure how to feel about the fact that Crystal Brown would rather take a double shift at an overcrowded and underfunded hospital than spend time with her daughter who almost died, but Steph remembers the few days lying in a hospital bed where the two of them didn’t really have anything to talk about, and wonders if it’s maybe for the best.

There’s another text, the only other notification on her phone, and Stephanie squints as she reads over it. It’s Leslie, with the results from the tests she’d ran the evening before, and Stephanie reads through them with limited interest as she recalls the masked stranger who had interrupted them both.

She’s definitely never seen them before. What intrigues her the most is how Leslie had just let them in, which means that Leslie knows them well enough that the appearance with no warning is a common occurrence, or… Or. Stephanie's mind draws a blank. She has no idea how Tim used to run on so few hours of sleep and still be semi-functional, but she also supposes that the twenty-five dollar coffee in his one-hundred dollar coffee machine helps him out. Thinking about Tim makes her stomach churn and a metal feeling rise in her mouth so instead she shakes her head on her pillow and blows out a breath of air, forcing the thoughts away.

It's a good time as any to get up anyways. Stephanie sits up in bed and locks her phone, placing it beside her on the sheets, and yawns. If she wants answer about this new vigilante-type in town then she needs to talk to Bruce because he is the one who generally knows about everything going on in Gotham, and even if he doesn’t she knows by now not to keep things from him in case they could be a threat. Her chest twinges again; a deep pain, ripping through her lungs and over her heart and punching the air out of her quickly, and Steph clenches her hands tight, breathing in deep to try and fill her chest again. 

It’s not a problem. She can’t let it become a problem. Stephanie sits and breathes and waits minutes until she feels like she move again without her chest threatening to split open, and when she finally stands she moves to her wardrobe and pulls on clothes that won’t get her scathing looks from Bruce when she arrives at the manor for her impromptu interrogation slash apology for last night.

In her haste to get out of the house when she realises she'll miss her bus for another half hour if she doesn't move now, Stephanie forgets to open the curtains in her window, and misses the masked stranger on the fire escape across from hers, waiting to catch a glimpse of her to ask for answers to their own questions.


	2. Chapter 2

_“Was any of it real? Was I ever even Robin?”_

_“Of course you were.”_

_“Good. Then I was really part of it - part of the legend. Even if it was only for a little while. No matter what, no one can take that away.”_

_“No matter what.”_

_“I think I need to rest, now.”_

_“You bet. I’ll be here watching over you.”_

  
  


 

**Part Two**

  

Bruce is silent as he works, the only acknowledgement of Stephanie given is a pause in his movements as he types on the sleek keyboard in front of him. Stephanie stands behind him, hands clasped together tightly and swaying on her feet a bit, waiting for him to interrogate her as usual.

“Something wrong, Stephanie?” He asks finally, leaning back in his chair and letting out a frustrated sigh, and Stephanie swallows.

“Oh uh. I just thought maybe you’d want to talk about last night?” She asks, and Bruce spins to face her, face unreadable.

“Oh yes,” He starts, pulling himself to his feet. “How is your elbow? Leslie said you landed on it quite hard.” Bruce asks, moving around her to make his way over to the Batmobile that is in somewhat state of disassembled, the passenger seat door off and wires sticking out from the roof.

“It’s… Okay.” Stephanie says; she can’t believe Leslie had lied to Bruce for her, but then realises that Leslie has nothing to fall back on either, telling Bruce Stephanie was fine in the first place when they both knew she was anything but.

“Tim was over earlier, he asked about you.” Bruce says, his voice muffled from where his head is leaning over a work bench, and Stephanie remembers their talk in the hospital room as if it were yesterday. Bruce’s voice was muffled then, too, under the cowl and her sedatives and maybe even a thick throat that made him sound like he’d been crying.

Steph isn’t sure if she believes Bruce had ever cried over the thought of losing her, even after Leslie made a comment that inferred he indeed had. It was weird to think about; this was the man who had locked her out of the Cave and shouted at her on rooftops about being irresponsible and even banned her from dating Tim, but now he was letting her in any time she wanted and telling her that Tim had been around looking for her.

“He’s never called me.” She says in answer. It’s the truth, Tim has shown nothing but radio silence, not even a ‘Get Well Soon’ card or a ‘I’m happy you’re not dead’ text once she was out of the hospital, and Bruce makes a humming noise in the back of his throat before he moves around the table again and makes work of scrutinising the Batmobile.

“There was actually something I wanted to talk to you about, last night I-“ Bruce swears, cutting Stephanie off, and he comes around from the table holding his hand to his chest. Stephanie doesn’t know what he’s done, just sees the blood pooling over his thumb joint and across the top of his hand, and he motions her out of the way while he pulls up a clean looking rag from a tool box on the floor and immediately wraps it around himself.

Steph continues. “I didn’t actually hurt my elbow, I’ve been having these chest pains? Leslie thinks it’s from the defibrillator-“ She’s cut off again, this time by a loud beeping on one of the large computer screens. Bruce looks up at it with sharp eyes, his injured hand tightening slightly before he’s pulling out his chair and pressing on an earpiece, likely linked up to Oracle.

Stephanie stands behind Bruce, ready to move at the given notice, and he reads off some coordinates before turning to her, a stern look on his face.

“Oracle has some information on some human smugglers coming into the docks this evening; it’s going to be some surveillance and action. Are you able to handle it?” He asks, folding large arms over a broad chest, his injury seemingly forgotten. Stephanie pauses. She should say no, that the increased adrenaline of a stake-out probably won’t be good for her, has he not even listened to anything she’s been trying to tell him, but on the other hand… It’s nice, really, him talking to her face to face and actually asking her to help him out on something that he can probably handle himself, pride rising in her chest and something in the back of her mind cheering because this is like a moment out of her wildest dreams.

Batman asking Spoiler for help. Wild.

“I can. I’ll be there.” She says, nodding, and Bruce hums.

“I actually have some re-designs to go over with you, if you have the time.” Bruce says, walking over to another monitor, and Steph’s eyebrows shoot up.

“You do?” It’s kind of unbelievable, Bruce showing such piqued interest in her.

“Well, the events with Black Mask showed your costume with clear weaknesses, if you’re serious about working with me then you need to have a suit with full movement and protection capabilities.”

And there it is. Like the last note of some melancholic ballad, Bruce’s sharp words about her run-in with Black Mask hang in the air of the Cave and bounce around the walls, all the way back to where Steph is stood in the middle. She hangs her head slightly, chewing at her lip.

“Yeah, right.” She says, “I guess I hadn’t thought about that.” She chances a look at him and sees the look of confusion that flashes across his eyes before his face is flat again. He gives her a half smile, something between the genuine ones he gives Tim and the fake ones he gives the press, and slowly reaches out to grab her on the shoulder. Short, sweet, and strong, his hand is gone as soon as it was put there and then Bruce is moving away into the shadows where Stephanie knows he keeps all of the Batsuit and Robin Suit prototypes, and Stephanie doesn’t know why – despite this being everything she’s ever wanted – there’s something in the back of her mind telling her that it’s wrong.

They spend hours in the cave. Day turns to dusk turns to night, and then Stephanie is suiting up in her new Spoiler suit, all eggplant and Kevlar and squeaky in all the right places. She tries to hide a grin; fails. Looks at where Bruce is adjusting his cowl as he stares down at the Batmobile.

“Can I drive?” She asks, tests the waters. He lets out a bark laugh at that, shaking his head at her.

“Get in, Spoiler. Your comms working?” he asks, and Steph presses a small button on her wrist, the tiny earpiece buzzing in her ear, and Steph can hear Bruce mumbling to himself from the other frequency, the feedback loop stuttered as she hears it next to her as well.

“So far, so good,” She says, and then the passenger door to the Batmobile is lifting open and she’s sliding in, the excitement bubbling in her fingers.

It’s an awful thought to have, but if all she needed to do to get Bruce’s respect was nearly dying, she wonders why she didn’t try it sooner. Something heavy settles in her stomach as soon as she thinks it; Bruce has already had someone die under his leadership and he leaves a space for him in all aspects of his work even if he’s never really spoken about.

Not for the first time, Steph is glad her inside voice _stayed_ inside. She doesn’t dare open her mouth the whole trip to the docks, scared something may slip out, and if Bruce is concerned or even affected by her new vow of silence he makes no outward note of it, the only sound in the Batmobile the ground moving beneath it.

It’s cold at the docks, wind whipping Steph’s hair against her cheeks. Bruce fiddles with his comm.

“What’s the plan?” She asks, standing patiently by the Batmobile, and Bruce looks at her as if he’s only just noticed she’s still there with him.

“I have some things set up from last night before I headed home. Why don’t you set up about a hundred-and-fifty feet back from dock eight, and I’ll let you know when to advance.” He says, voice commanding, and Steph nods.

“Stay alert,” is his finale warning to her, before he’s disappearing into the night himself, and Stephanie sighs before moving away from the Batmobile, eyes peeled for a good vantage point.

She sees it in the distance; an old warehouse that was probably used for boat storage years back, empty and half-falling apart, but the perfect height to watch over any proceedings. Stephanie pulls herself up on the rusting fire escape, going for ‘quiet as a mouse’ but some of the steps looser than she thought they would be, and Steph cringes throughout each step until she’s on somewhat stable wood.

It’s then that someone kicks her feet out from underneath her and Stephanie gasps, no way has she been made already. These guys didn’t even know her and Batman were onto them, what the _hell_? Stephanie kicks her leg out from the firm grip, missing her bo staff like crazy, and her eyes strain trying to make out the figure in front of her. She kicks again, this time her foot hitting something solid, and the person lets out a grunt; airy, high pitched.

They stumble back and Stephanie scrambles to her feet, arms up around her face like a cage, ready for a hit.

Her eyes have adjusted to the darkness now but Steph still blinks, unsure. And then her attacker is standing to full height and Stephanie gasps, because it’s not a gang member or a child trafficker or some goon – it’s the masked stranger from Leslie’s clinic the night before, and they’re looking down at her with a cocked head.

Stephanie is about to reach out – to punch or pull at them, she hasn’t made a decision, but her footing wavers for a second and then the two of them are pausing, each looking to the other wildly because...

There’s a cracking sound beneath them and then they’re falling, the roof coming apart underneath their feet and Steph only managing to pull out her grappling hook at the last second. It must grip onto something because she manages not to fall to her death but the landing is hard, sends her flying across the concrete floor for a few feet on her back, knocking the wind out of her as splinters flutter down around her.

Steph lets out a groan, pulling herself to her hands and knees, trying to remember to breathe. The warehouse around her shrieks in the wind and Steph can barely make out her surroundings, the windows boarded up and the light from outside too weak to make any difference.

She hears movement behind her and stills, remembers the reason she ended up here in the first place.

Stephanie grabs at a batarang on her hip and twists her body around, releasing it as her hand hits the arc in the air. It flies through the air and Steph watches her assailant moves out of the way, landing on their knee and huffing.

The two of them stall, sizing the other up, and then the person in the mask making a run for it, across to the back of the warehouse and vaulting out of one of the low windows.

Stephanie does the obvious, and follows them.

The docks are well lit by now, Batman’s traps all in effect, and Steph knows she should probably tell him where she’s going but the person is trying their hardest to get away from her; criss-crossing through the transport crates and doubling back on her a few times. Stephanie can feel the burn of her lungs and a stitch in her side but she pushes through, praying that something doesn’t cause her to fall, like her heart suddenly deciding to stop like usual.

They’re off the docks in a few minutes, and through the industrial park. It’s pitch black, almost, the machinery casting odd shadows, but Stephanie can still hear footfalls and the telltale ‘schickt’ of a grappling hook when she strains her ears, and despite the stranger’s attempts she’s still hot on their tail.

The sun is starting to rise in the distance, a dull hue over the harbour, and as it breaks through the clouds for just a second Stephanie hits the outskirts of the business district, her feet feeling weird on the concrete. She’s getting good at this, she thinks, and then they’re winding their way through the back end of Gotham Cemetery, coming to a stop as Steph pulls out another batarang and flings it so it ricochets off one of the old headstones, missing the stranger’s outstretched hand by mere inches, causing them to skid to a stop.

They turn to her.

Steph grins at the person in the mask as their eyes widen at her, vindicated in finally having caught them. The chase through the city had been fun, reminded her of her first nights as Spoiler when Robin actually let her in on all of Batman’s plans for the night, always one step behind him but able to catch up nonetheless.

Stephanie folds her arms; victorious, yet there’s something in the masked person’s posture that makes her grin falter. It’s cautious. Questioning. Steph’s smile slips off her face like cake toppings on too-wet icing, and the hairs on her arms prickle under her long sleeves. Like jumping off the harbour not quite into summer, a cold washes over her.

Something is wrong.

“You’ve been following me?” She asks, panting, fingers tingling in the tell-tale sign that her heart beat is slowing. The person in the mask shifts on their feet but doesn’t answer, and Steph folds her arms.

“You were in Leslie’s clinic and saw me and… What? Do you want something? I can assure you if it’s Batman you’re after-”

“Not Batman. You.” The person says. It sounds like a man’s voice, and Stephanie startles.

“Me?”

“Need to talk.”

“You… You didn’t have to drag me all the way to Gotham Cemetery to talk! And why would I talk to you, I don’t even know you.” Stephanie points out. There’s a funeral that’s just about to start; a minister talking to the funeral director, various vehicles lining up along the graveyard’s fence line and people decked out in black all fussing over each other.

A hearse hasn’t arrived yet but Steph figures it will soon, and she’s itching to get out of here, feels like she’s imposing somehow despite being hidden by decade-old gravestones in the distance.

The stranger says nothing. Steph wrings her fingers.

“Look, if you want to talk we can go somewhere like a diner or something. Do you need help? Is that...”

The stranger shakes their head. _No_. There’s warning bells going off in the back of her mind and Steph sizes up the person in front of her properly. It’s like something shifts, the longer she looks at them. How their jacket is far too big, fingers calloused yet strong. The body underneath isn’t as broad as she first thought, the muscle lithe and the towering height really only because of the heavy combat boots they’re wearing.

“...Take off the mask.” Stephanie demands, going for a casual tone but missing the mark by about ten paces. Her eyes flick back to the proceedings behind her and she sees as the hearse pulls up to the graveyard gates, just as expected. Some of the faces look familiar in the distance, and Stephanie stills.

Panic washes over her, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She’s dizzy with it. Turning back to the masked stranger she can see the them hesitate in their movements, their hand shaking at their side slightly. It feels like the moment before Bruce had benched her, before Barbara had told her her dad had escaped from Blackgate, before she realised the ties on her chair were just too tight for her to get out of before the gun went off.

“I won’t talk to you until you take off the goddamn mask!” Stephanie hisses, desperation creeping into her voice. It takes the two of them by surprise as the stranger’s hand stills, and Stephanie holds her breath.

If only Leslie could see her now. This was far too much adrenaline and paranoia, exactly what Leslie has been warning her against for weeks now, and Steph wants to feel silly; wants the person in front of her to reveal their face and explain this was just some stupid test Batman had given her and she’d passed. Wants go back to Bruce and have him berate her for not disclosing the full extent of her medical problems sooner and bench her for a few days and let things get back to normal.

Steph wants to feel silly but right now she feels trapped, a little girl back in a little cupboard.

The stranger pulls off the mask, and Stephanie feels like she’s been punched right in the solar plexus, her entire world crashing around her in mere seconds.

“You. What- What is this?” Steph says, weakly. She knows this stranger, she realises. Man.

She knows this _boy_.

He’s got baby fat around his cheeks still. A cheeky glint in his eye, his lips drawn tight. He looks exactly like the photos - the one’s she’s seen of him anyways. Jason Todd stares back at her, a scabbing gash on his forehead, and he’s small; smaller than any other fifteen year old she’s ever met anyhow.

Stephanie looks over at the funeral again despite every nerve ending in her body begging her not to. They’ve put a photo up next to the casket, which was carried in while she was watching Jason.

Her homecoming portrait grins at those in attendance, and Stephanie turns away to throw up on her boots.


	3. Chapter 3

_ In a graveyard, the rain is soaking through the grounds. The old lamp that was installed some years ago flickers, the dim glow doing nothing more than casting shadows over the gravestones within its vicinity. Lightning claps, and there’s a disturbance on the grounds. _

_ No one is around, of course. It’s three-am on a stormy night and temperatures are incredibly low for the middle of spring. The sound of rustling gets louder, and is then drowned out by another clap of thunder. _

_ Your hands are dragging through the slick mud. They’re bloody, probably from scratching at the coffin six feet below, and the movements are erratic. A voice - your voice? - calls out. Incoherent. A scream. You gasp, deep and wet, wiping your hands on the grass and wiping at your eyes. The heavy rain has already made progress in washing the dirt and blood off of you, your thick hair sticking to your forehead. A second yell tears its way up and out of an underused throat, raw and panicked. _

_ This isn’t how your story is meant to go. _

 

 

 

**Part Three**

 

Jason moves to pat her on the back, and Stephanie startles.

“I’m sorry, I thought you’d already figured it out.” He says. His voice is soft; concerned. Stephanie shudders as she spits more bile out, shivering as she wipes the back of her hand across her mouth. Stephanie shakes her head.

“I’m not… This can’t be real. This is- I’m- No. No!” Stephanie says, shoving at Jason’s hand weakly, and he steps back, his lips pursing.

Stephanie takes a few deeps breaths, and uses her hand to pull off her spoiler hood. She’s sweating but she’s cold, and all the while Jason just looks at her, his face pitying.

“You’re taking it better than I did.” He shrugs, folding his hands under his armpits, and Stephanie gives him a perplexed look.

“I’m not- I’m not taking anything. This is some sick joke, you know.” Stephanie says. It’s not true - it’s a dream, she’s fallen asleep in the cave again, Bruce will be coming to shake her awake anytime now. Her peripheral spies her mom, her arm linked with one of her co-workers, and Stephanie stills.

Her voice doesn’t even sound like her, not when she pushes past her still shaky breaths and even some tears.

“What _ is  _ this place.”

Jason moves, comes to stand beside her. He’s facing the graveyard. His face is blank, devoid of any emotion, and Stephanie turns so she’s standing with him, her eyes scanning the crowd of people.

“It’s home.” He says, protective and simple and loud enough just so she can hear it.

Stephanie spots Tim in the back row, and her lip wobbles.

“I’m not dead.” She whispers, and hates how it comes out as a question. Jason flicks his eyes over to her.

“My funeral I uh… I ran up to Bruce. Spent the whole hour trying to get his attention, to tell him I was here. No one noticed, of course.” Jason says, and Stephanie wipes away her hot tears.

“I’m not  _ dead _ .” She says, her voice sharp, and Jason swallows. He’s unsure of what to do, Stephanie realises, as his hand clenches and unclenches next to his side again.

“Do you want to go and listen?” Jason asks, staring right at the funeral, and Stephanie shakes her head.

“I want to know what this place is - why am I here? Why are  _ you _ here?”

“It’s Gotham, obviously. At least I like to think it is, but it’s cleaner than what I remember. I don’t know why you’re here though. I thought this place was meant to be for me and me only; maybe it’s because you also died as Batman’s ward.” Jason muses, and Stephanie shakes her head.

“I’m not dead. Bruce and Leslie resuscitated me. They saved me.” She explains, and Jason raises one brow at her.

It’s like the feeling of putting a final puzzle piece into place. Everything makes sense now. The heart palpitations. The non-sleeping. The paranoia. Her conversation with Bruce in a hospital room that seems like a too-distant memory for something that only happened a few months ago.

Stephanie feels like she’s going to vomit again, but knows there’s nothing left. A dry sob rips out of her throat, and she’s stumbling, her knees giving out. Jason grabs her elbow, and Stephanie lets him pull her into an awkward hug, him rubbing wide circles on her back. Her head is spinning, so much to ask because nothing makes  _ sense _ .

Behind them, the minister steps up to begin his speech. Crystal Brown is crying, silently, and Stephanie’s entire heart aches.

Jason tugs on her elbow lightly, and Stephanie doesn’t know why but she follows him. They make their way out of the graveyard, the voice of the minister growing fainter and fainter as they do, until the only thing Steph can hear is the rubbish on the sidewalk swirling in the wind, and the odd car horn in the distance.

Jason is right, Stephanie notes. Everything looks different upon closer inspection. Shop fronts cleaner, the roads emptier. Everything seems closer too; the Gotham City Bank only a few minutes from the burger joint her and Tim used to frequent after patrol despite them being on two different sides of the city. Even the graveyard is closer to the city centre in this place than in the real Gotham; she doesn’t know why she didn’t notice that earlier, during the chase. Time was passing but not really, like late at night when you check the time and its four in the morning and not eleven at night like you suspected.

 

Stephanie chances a look at Jason, whose domino mask is still off. He must notice her looking at him out of his peripheral, because he turns to look at her, a weird look on his face. Stephanie turns away.

“Where are we going?” She asks, after a few more minutes of meandering, and Jason huffs.

“Where do you want to go?” He asks, and Steph goes silent. She doesn’t understand. How many times had she been home these past few weeks, walked past the school, been to the cave. Nothing makes sense; the disconnect between the two worlds blurry but evidently there.

“How did- I spoke to Leslie. So did you, that night you came in while I was there.” Steph says. She’s spoken to Bruce. To Barbara. Alfred.

“They’re real, sort of. How I remember them, or I guess how we remember them. It’s hard to explain but they’re just… There. I kind of compare them to the moving portraits in the Harry Potter books; they smile and talk and can come and go as they please but you won’t get any interaction out of them unless you take the lead.” Jason says.

That hurts the most out of everything, she thinks. Her entire world has come crashing down on her and she’s really starting to believe the fact that she might actually be dead and the person to carry her through the afterlife is comparing it to Harry Potter.

They come to a stop on the pavement and Stephanie squints. It’s the old waffle shop she used to frequent, closed up for the day, paint still flaking off the shop front but it still there.

“I can’t even eat these anymore, can I?” Steph asks. She speaks quietly, walks up to the glass window and presses a gloved hand against it, thinks she can remember the smell of burning waffle batter and chocolate sauce. Her tongue feels heavy and she lets out an exhale.

“I mean, food exists here and it tastes nice but you don’t really get… Full. It takes some getting used to.” Jason says. He’s shuffling behind her, patting down his pockets, and Stephanie watches him the reflection of the dusty glass as he pulls out a lighter and a cigarette. She snorts; the image of this tiny boy in a shredded Robin suit and too-big jacket, lighting up a cigarette and breathing it in like it’s his last breath.

He raises his hand out to her.

“I’d say those will kill you, but I’m not sure I’m in the mood for humour yet.” Steph says, turns to him and folds her arms. He shrugs at her and then leans over, pats the nearly full cigarette out on the concrete and then places it back in his front pocket.

She realises how long it’s been, that he’s been here alone. The death of Jason Todd had been all the talk in Gotham for months after it happened. She remembers the newspapers her dad had brought home scoffing about the special treatment  _ Those Wayne’s _ got for anything they used to do.

Stephanie had thought it was sad; she was only a year younger than him, fourteen years old and wondering what it would feel like to die so young. He’d been her Robin too, wishing she could just catch a glimpse, a flash of his cape or boot or something.

She’s seventeen now. Stephanie doesn’t know when his birthday is but back in the real world Jason would probably be getting ready to celebrate being eighteen. She knows how Bruce gets about birthdays, remembers Tim telling her about the plans for his sixteenth just a few months ago and knows that Bruce would give probably the exact same treatment to his second son.

“I’m sorry.” Stephanie says, for lack of anything else to say. Jason is busy prodding at the graze above his eye and pulling faces at himself in the window, and he raises an eyebrow as he turns to her.

“ _ You’re _ sorry? You didn’t kill me.” He says, straightens up and pulls his jacket tight across himself, and Stephanie shrugs.

“You know I met him, once. The Joker. He tried to blow Tim and I up.”

Jason pauses and Steph wants to crawl in on herself. ‘ _ Good one _ ’, she says to herself, ‘ _ bring up the kid’s murderer and replacement at the same time _ ’. Steph remembers when she’d snuck into the Cave for the first time and dared ask about the case in the middle of it. Visible from all corners, from any vantage point. The look Bruce had given her that day was unlike anything Steph had ever seen from the man. The only thing she can describe it as was haunted.

“Wouldn’t be a problem if someone just killed him,” Jason sighs. “Damn Bats and his golden moral compass, I suppose.”

He’s walking away then, back the way they came, and Stephanie widens her strides to catch up with him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s… Upset  _ me _ ? You really are weird, you know. You find out you’re dead and you’re apologising to me as if I’m not the one who hasn’t been here three years.” Jason is being evasive. He’s picking up his pace. Stephanie sits on that – what else is she supposed to do, though? Go home to her fake mom? To the fake Manor with fake Bruce and Alfred?

She wonders if she’ll find fake Tim around, somewhere. If he’ll talk to her or ignore her like the real one.

She lets Jason lead them around the city, clearly with a destination in mind. She doesn’t realise where they’re headed for a while, until it almost slaps her in the face. If the rest of Gotham is meant to be cleaner in Jason’s version then he’s neglected to run the duster and broom over this place. Crime Alley looks the same as always; grimy and dark and derelict. She remembers her first night as Robin hanging around one of the abandoned apartment blocks; Gotham’s first and only attempt at council housing, left to rot along with her citizens.

“He found me right here, stealing his damn tyres. I thought for sure I was dead, you know? Hear all these stories about the Bat of Gotham, who has no mercy for wrong doers of any kind. So I beat him up with a tyre iron and made a run for it only for him to find me two nights later.” Stephanie never knew this, had always believed the story Bruce had told the Gazette many years ago when Jason’s adoption was made official. Jason kneels into a squat, not caring about the damp ground on his knees.

“I think that says a lot more about him than anything Vicki Vale ever published, but that’s just my opinion.” Jason’s voice is soft. Stephanie wants to disagree, to tell him about how angry he gets these days, how her attempts to help were met with stoic silence and a swift kick to the kerb.

She remembers, after one particularly rough night, how Bruce had grabbed her and Tim by the scruff of their necks and all but dragged them to the Batmobile. He was venomous, that night. A breakout at Arkham had led to the Joker getting out and Steph had thought he was angry because he’d somehow found out that Tim had tried to kiss her, and it wasn’t until he dropped her off in the alley behind her mom’s place when he spat out “ _ You’re going too far down a path someone else has already taken a trip down, Spoiler _ .”

She hadn’t seen Batman or Robin for a week after that, bruises yellowed and the ghost weight of the bat she’d used to kneecap one of the Arkham escapees still heavy in her hand. Didn’t realise then that Bruce had meant Jason, the boy who had justice in his heart but in a way that Bruce didn’t want; a way that Bruce was scared of.

Jason stands to his full height again, looking at his hands. He hums to himself, looking up at the sky. Steph follows, notices the black clouds, feels the electricity of a storm coming in.

“I hate to do this, Blondie, but I have somewhere to be.” He says, pulling his domino mask out of his pocket. Steph looks at him and grins.

“Right, and I have last week’s homework to finish.” It has to be a joke, right? Somewhere to be? There was nothing in this place that could possibly need his immediate attention, because no one else was here. Just him and her and his memories, all swirling together in some false sense of reality that she was sure would probably disappear the minute he closed his eyes for too long.

Or maybe it wouldn’t, now she was here. Now she’d started that thought more came – how did this place really work? What happened if they died here too? Can they die here?

“Seriously. I know it’s strange and unbelievable but… There’s a reason I ended up in Leslie’s clinic the night you were there, and it wasn’t because I decided to take up some fucked up version of knife play.” He says. Stephanie stares at him, open-mouthed, because no way is this even happening.

“Are you real? Is this real?” She stutters out, just as he’s turning to leave, and he stops in his tracks. Turns back around. Walks right up to her, his eyes dark under the mask, and Stephanie holds her breath.

His hand links up with hers and he squeezes, almost bone crushing, before slowly letting go.

“That hurt.” She says, because it did. Her fingers are still tingling under her gloves.

“It’s as real as you make it, Spoiler. I’ll catch up with you later – I’m sure Bats has something for you tonight anyways.” He says, and then he really is leaving, up a fire escape and onto a roof and then he’s gone, fake Gotham swallowing her son for another night.

Stephanie would rather do anything but go and see Bruce. How does this work, her able to work with him and Barbara but Jason evidently not? The walk to the Manor seems more like real life time. It’s dark and the humidity in the air is thick on her chest, and when she gets to the Manor the East Wing office lights are on but the Cave is empty, Bruce seemingly left for the night without her.

Alfred is also nowhere to be seen, and the day’s revelation brings a new meaning to Ghost Town. She’s about to leave, maybe go search her and Tim’s old hideouts to see if she can find her version of him around here, when something catches her eye.

It’s a photo on the mantelpiece in the entryway. There are others there, too, always have been. It’s where the only photo of Jason Steph has seen sits, as well as one of Bruce and Dick in some formal wear from years ago. There’s the one of a young Bruce with his parents and the one of Alfred and Kate Kane half-way through an arm wrestle. The recently added photo of Tim in his school uniform still stands on the corner, but the one that knocks the breath out of Steph is small, and she notices it because it’s her. A selfie she took with Tim on his phone months ago, the frame sat on top of the memorial programme from her funeral.

When Steph reaches out to touch it her fingers feel like they slip right through, making contact but only for a moment, and she doesn’t realise she’s crying until a fat droplet lands on the mantelpiece in front of her. She pulls in a deep breath and pulls her collar up tight, wiping away her tears quickly with her sleeve, and makes her way home.

She doesn’t stop at the waffle place. She gets into bed and lies there for hours until the night turns to dawn and then to morning, the storm finally arriving sometime between her failed attempts at eating breakfast and her digging through her wardrobe for her old Spoiler costume.

She needs to find Jason, which is why it’s so frustrating that once she finally pulls on her costume and kits herself up and convinces herself she won’t just float away when she leaves her house that Stephanie can’t find Jason anywhere.

She checks the apartment in Crime Alley, the building where they first met before the events in the graveyard, Leslie’s clinic. Everywhere. She pointedly ignores the side of Gotham where the Manor stands, knows that Jason won’t be anywhere near there anyways. She searches until sunset and then well into the night, until the outer parts of Gotham starts to get blurry around the edges and something inside her tugs her back to the heart of the city.

Thunder rolls in the distance, and fat raindrops fall against the pavement. Something feels off, and Stephanie pulls her hood around herself tighter. She’s confused; had she missed some cryptic message in his departure yesterday? How later was “later” meant to be anyways? Stephanie makes her way past Gotham Bank and over to the West Side, down to the last remaining park with actual grass in it, and stops.

She’s sodden to the bone, fingers and thighs numb from the wet and the cold. She wonders if she can get sick in this world; she wonders a lot of things, and if Jason can even give her the answers when he finally turns up. Stephanie sits herself on the park bench for some time, the rain washing over her until her costume is almost too heavy to move with it, and with a defeated sigh she makes her way home.

She stands in the shower for as long as she wants, wins her own argument that she surely can’t waste water in a world that isn’t real, and tucks herself up in her rattiest pyjamas, curled up on her bed and looking at the words of a book that she’s not really paying attention to, another night wasted thinking in circles with no conclusions to show for it.

There’s a growing feeling of unease in her chest, starts low, and over the course of the night it spreads and spreads and spreads until Stephanie can’t breathe with it, feels like someone is sitting right on her centre and she’s too weak to push them off. It’s a different pain to the pain she usually gets, and Stephanie has a bad feeling like when she knows she’s low on grapple hook or when her dad would storm around in the old apartment just waiting for an excuse to start an argument. The dark of the night slowly transitions to the grey of the morning, last night’s rain slowing to small, fat droplets. Stephanie sits in the same spot for some more time, aware that soon her mom will send her a text telling her that she’s going to stay at one her friend’s places closer to the hospital in case they need any extra nurses on call, and she chews her lip until she tastes blood.

It hurts, hurts as she runs the tip of her tongue over the dip in her lip where the skin had come up. Stephanie remembers what Jason had said two days before, about this place being as real as you make it. Another hour passes. Stephanie still sits.

She lets out a deep breath of air. Uncurls herself and forces herself to feel her shoulders pull in protest, pulls off her pyjama pants and replaces them with jeans, zips a hoodie up over her sleep shirt. She leaves the house and doesn’t know if she’s remembering the smell of what Gotham after rain or if it’s real, walking and walking and walking in the direction that feels right. She’s not surprised to soon find herself in the graveyard, but it isn’t her grave that her feet pull her towards. It’s almost expected where she does end up, really, poetic in a way that could be funny if it didn’t entail such dire consequences for her.

Jason’s grave plot is empty, sunken in from the night of rain, bits of coffin scattered about and no apparent body to be found.

Stephanie thinks the thing she hates most about this is that no matter how hard she tries, she can’t reach out to Alfred as he stands with a shovel, slowly filling it back in.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the end of Rubatosis! I had this idea a few months ago and after a few choppy weeks trying to make it all fit together I think it finally does. I'd like to thank Ezra for being there for me ever since I raised the idea to them, and also to James for reading my updates last minute when I was too scared to publish.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy, thanks so much for the comments and kudos and just for keeping up with this if you still are!


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